


looking down the road, ain't never gonna go back

by theGirlNightwing



Series: the devils train [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Demons, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, M/M, Prequel, Succubi & Incubi, Trains, Vampires, ao3 deleted half my tags, but on a train, can i warn for that i feel like that should be a warning, demon thomas jefferson, fuck this train in particular, its like a high fantasy novel, sin - Freeform, why am i here again?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theGirlNightwing/pseuds/theGirlNightwing
Summary: “Here,” Thomas says, and summons the fifth-plane equivalent to a splint. He steps forward, places a hand on John’s arm. The angel squirms, unused to physical-plane touch. “Hold still, darlin’. i can’t dress your wound if you don’t hold still.”“I’m holding still,” John snaps. “Please stop touching me -”“I’m trying to help!”“Not very well!”**ever wondered what happened between our favorite angel&demon duo? (+KG3 but no one cares abt him lol)(prequel to who's gonna ride the devil's train tonight)





	looking down the road, ain't never gonna go back

**Author's Note:**

> IM BACK BITCHES (alone, sadly. rip rowan. they will be missed.  
> ...  
> no okay they're just out of the fandom i talked to them recently they're alright)
> 
> ANYYYWAY 
> 
> watch no one read this lmao
> 
> prompt me for this universe @ [the-girlnightwing](https://the-girlnightwing.tumblr.com/) , or like just send me a couple characters and ill write a short story abt them or smth. i love this universe. it is my Child. gimme more to write
> 
> Thank u @pennylehane for beta reading and letting me scream ideas at u *fingerguns*
> 
> **it's the trainfic universe, guys. dubcon, sadness, angst, (brief) porn. use of derogatory language. nonconsensual biting by a vampire. read at your own discretion (also keep in mind that u dont *need* to read the trainfic before this but it would certainly help.)**

“Thomas!” John yells, reaching out a hand, but it’s too late. 

Thomas falls, eyes wide, flying off the train and slamming into the protective barrier around it in a shower of sparks, screaming in pain as his essence is eaten away. The magic crawls, engulfs him, biting into his flesh like acid and burning away his skin until he’s not even bone, not even a skeleton, just a flash of light and then he’s -

“THOMAS!”

* * *

_ Ten days prior. _

King George’s parties are always the best on the entire train - and he makes sure of that. There’s probably a rule, somewhere, saying no one can hold a better ball.

It’s extravagant, gold and gold and gold covering the walls and expensive human food on overflowing tables. The partygoers are beings of the highest calibre, and invites are the most exclusive, sought after items on the entire train. And that, certainly, is saying something. The beings on the train - none of them are quite “good”, and all are greedy, every single one of them embodying at least one of the seven greatest sins. 

John knows all about those sins.

As a fallen angel, he’s been closely acquainted with either side of the good/bad “spectrum”. His family - former family - in heaven had preached only the best of behavior - staying celibate for their entire lives except maybe once or twice for the purpose of childrearing, never overindulging in any sort of leisure activity, never doing anything out of your own desire. Here, on the train, it was the exact opposite. Act only on your own desires. Fuck whatever you want. Keep a pet, something to indulge yourself in no matter where you are, with no regard to “public decency”, or anything that might resemble it. Indulge in whatever you want - no one will stop you, and if you don’t get there first, someone else will. 

And the King - well. The King is very much the king of all of these sins.

There’s a greeting ceremony, at his balls, where every guest must go worship him, tell him how much they adore him. He takes whatever he wants, even in regards to pets - John had narrowly avoided that fate. His current pet, as everyone is aware, is a demon. John avoids looking at it, stares only at the King’s feet - as looking him in the eye would be a punishable offense. The King runs this Train. He can do whatever he likes. 

“Your Majesty,” John grits out, bowing. “It is an honor to see your beautiful presence once more. You are too kind, to grace us with it.”

“Of course,” the King says grandly. He strokes the hair of his pet, puts his other hand under his own chin, tilts his head. “Offer’s still open, Laurens. Join your friend, and you will be  _ lavished _ .” He yanks up his pet’s head by the hair, ignores the whimper. 

John steadfastly ignores the pleading glances the pet gives him. Pretends not to recognize it, despite the unmistakable curls, the face that haunts his dreams. “And again I respectfully decline, sir,” he says stiffy. “I have no friend under you.”

The pet opens its mouth as if to speak, but John’s already bowing once more, and turning to make his exit. 

John pretends not to hear the devastated cry, nor the slap that follows. 

He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care.  _ He doesn’t care. _

He has no obligation to it.

Jefferson did this to himself.

* * *

_ “I love you.” Thomas says, loving. He runs a hand through John’s hair, peppers his jaw with kisses.  _

_ “And I you.” John smiles, big and bright, kisses his boyfriend as he laughs. They fall into a summoned bed, lay together. Smiling and laughing. They’re happy. They’re together again, they can embrace and kiss and love and smile and laugh and love and love and love -  _

John wakes to a tear soaked pillow, shivering even under piles of blankets. It was just a dream, he reminds himself, curls inwards into himself and pretends not to notice his eyes still producing liquid. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Of course it is, what else could it be? Certainly not a memory, certainly not reality. 

In reality they’ve never been happy.

* * *

“Did you hear?” Someone demures, passes a plate of some type of seafood to John. “The King’s pet tried to escape yesterday.” The being has a sly smirk on its face, but they couldn’t possibly know what the words “King’s pet” are doing to John.

“Oh?” John asks, ignores the pang in his heart. “What happened?”

“The King found and punished it, of course. It was sawing off the chain around its leg with some combination of a paper clip and a fork.”

“Mm,” John hums. Thomas had always been resourceful. A survivor.

“A shame,” the being tsks, and takes back the plate. “The pet really is quite pretty. A waste, to keep it mostly locked up.”

“A shame,” John echoes, blankly. He’s feeling something, about this. An emotion he doesn’t want to identify. It feels almost like anger, almost like sadness. Melancholy. Rage. He stands abruptly, smiles tightly at the startled being.  _ I can’t do this.  _ “Apologies. I’m afraid I must go.”

“Forgotten appointment?” The being asks. It looks suspicious, but John repeats to himself,  _ there’s no way he knows.  _

“Something like that.”

* * *

Thomas has always been a survivor.

He fakes interest well, closes his eyes and thinks of John as the King thrusts, buries his teeth in Thomas’ neck. “Good little toy,” the King moans when Thomas whines, begs for more. It burns, somehow, like fire spreading across his skin everywhere he’s touched - and Thomas feels tears gather in his eyes as he opens himself further, spreads his legs like a whore. “Cumdump. Slut.” The words are muffled into Thomas’ neck.

Thomas exhales shaky, ass flexing around the King’s cock as he continues fucking, unrelenting, gripping Thomas in ways that will leave bruises. 

The King loves bruises.

A mark of who owns him, a mark of who controls him. He belongs to the King - and at this point he thinks the only reason he hasn’t been collared is because his neck is the King’s favorite biting spot. The bed shakes. Thomas bites back a scream, bares his neck further as the King continues to suck out his blood. He begins to feel lightheaded, blinks away the tears. His vision blacks out briefly, but then he’s back and more grounded and this is the only time he’s been able to access his magic - when the King has taken so much blood he can do nothing but nudge it around weakly. 

“More,” he pleads instead of fighting, wrists crossed above his head like the King likes, helpless under him. He writhes, breathes out air that sounds like  _ John  _ and prays the King doesn’t hear. 

“ _ Yes, _ ” the King hisses, groans and spills his release inside Thomas, pulling out to admire the mess he’s made. He swipes his finger through it, holds it out for Thomas to lick. “Good boy,” he coos, smoothes back the hair matted down by sweat. “Good boy.”

And Thomas whimpers, closes his eyes, and obeys.

* * *

_ He meets John a few hundred years prior to the mess with the King. He’s wandering England, bored, when he stumbles upon a being struggling to escape from a trash can. The being yelps, manages to get itself over the edge, and slams down onto the ground with a scream.  _

_ “Are you alright?” Thomas asks curiously.  _

_ “Peachy,” John hisses. “I’m fine, goodbye!” _

_ Thomas stays, cocks an eyebrow. “What happened? How’d you get into a trash can?” _

_ “Fell,” John spits. He tries to stand, but is unbalanced, likely due to the broken appendage on the fifth plane of existence.  _

_ “Here,” Thomas says, and summons the fifth-plane equivalent to a splint. He steps forward, places a hand on John’s arm. The angel squirms, unused to physical-plane touch. “Hold still, darlin’. i can’t dress your wound if you don’t hold still.” _

_ “I’m holding still,” John snaps. “Please stop touching me -” _

_ “I’m trying to help!” _

_ “Not very well!” _

_ Somehow, they become friends from that. They keep seeing each other, sneak away from their respective homes to meet in the middle, on earth.  _

_ It works, for them. _

* * *

The King parades Thomas around like a prized animal, sometimes lets other beings touch him, shove digits and toys inside him. Sometimes the King has Thomas strip in front of everyone, spin slowly in a circle so beings can oogle. It’s humiliating, and Thomas just wants to curl into a ball and hide in some corner so no one will ever look at him again. 

Sometimes John is there, and Thomas wants to cry out to him, plead for him to help, but John just pays his respects to the King, bows stiffly, and leaves. He never looks at Thomas. Never speaks to him. Refers to him as  _ it _ in his mind, out loud, shows his lack of regard. 

Somehow that hurts more than the shit the King’s minions do to him. 

* * *

_ And then John is found out. He drags himself, broken and crying, to their usual meeting spot - and Thomas flips his shit. _

_ “Who did this?” He snarls “I’ll fucking kill them, John -” _

_ John had fallen. His family had cast him out for consorting with a demon. Thomas embraces him, vows to destroy his father, Henry, who had been the one to report him. John can see the fire in his eyes, fire that he has fallen in love with despite warnings from his father, warnings from heaven. And that’s the thing - he fell for a demon.  _

_ Heaven could not forgive him. _

_ John keeps saying, “stop talking Thomas it’s okay it’s okay” but Thomas won’t stop so John closes his eyes tight, takes a deep breath -  _

_ And kisses him. _

* * *

John slams down the shot glass. “- and for  _ fucks’ sake,  _ I didn’t ask for -”

The incubus he’d been ranting to snorts, knocks his hand away from the fifteenth glass. “No more for you, sweetheart.”

“But -”

“You’re drunk off your ass,” the incubus says. They’re French, John thinks. Marquis de something. 

“But -”

“No. More,” they say. They push the glass back to the bartender, and turn John to face them. “Keep ranting, if you want, but  _ mon dieu, _ John Laurens. You’ve had enough.”

John deflates. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. I just. I love him, y’know? And he went and did this stupid thing and it looks like he’s trying to get himself out of the stupid thing but he can’t do it alone but my pride says don’t help him but -”

“Laurens,” the incubus interrupts, and God John feels like an asshole - they remember his full name but John doesn’t remember theirs. “This Train - like you said - you take what you want. You take what you want and god help anyone who stands in your way. This man, you say you love him, you say he’s in a tight spot. So help him out of it. Claim what’s yours.”

John sets his jaw. “Okay. Yes. Yes. I’ll - I should do that.” He doesn’t move.

The incubus smiles genially. “So go do it.”

John stumbles to his feet, but he’s rocky. 

“You likely forgot,” the incubus says, amused, “ _ Je m’appelle Michel.  _ I hope to see you soon.”

And because John’s an angel with a very long lifespan, he asks for Michel’s full name. 

“Clear that alcohol from your system first,” Michel says. “You’ll have to do it anyway.”

John complies, and Michel clears their throat. 

“Michel Louis Christophe Roch Gilbert Paulette du Motier,” they say. “Marquis de Lafayette.”

“I’ll remember you,” John says. He nods, gives a slight bow. “Thank you.”

* * *

_ “Thomas,” John says, “don’t be a fucking idiot.” _

_ “I’m not,” Thomas says, and turns away, frowning. _

_ “Yes you are. Don’t follow him, this so-called ‘King’ - he’s a vampire, he’s no good. Thomas -” _

_ “Stop patronizing me. You’re just jealous he fucks  _ me _ now instead of you.” John ignores his stomach when it drops, leaving him with a nasty feeling. Their kiss - when he kissed Thomas - Thomas had pulled away, said his feelings were requited, but they couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be responsible for John falling any further. John had nodded, but it stung, and he met someone at a bar. Suave, sexy. They’d fallen into bed, but he’d tried to bite John, so John panicked and ran. _

_ “I’m not, I know what he’s like, Thomas  _ please _ listen to me -” The King had searched for him after that, stalked him until he confronted him. It had gone badly, and the King had seen Thomas and now - _

_ “Fuck off, Laurens,” Thomas says coldly, and John takes a step back, hurt. “I know what’s good for me. Get out of my house.” _

_ “Thomas -” _

_ “GET OUT!” _

* * *

Thomas doesn’t know who slipped him the needle, but whoever it was, he thinks he’ll never be able to thank them enough. He keeps it between his teeth, still in the capsule. 

There was a series of these needles produced underground, but only a few still in circulation. There’s one set for vampires, one set for incubi, and he thinks there might even be some for demons - the needles act like a vacuum, sucking away the energy or blood of the creature it stabs, temporarily incapacitating them until they get back up, hunger increased tenfold. 

It’ll be enough for him to slip away, if he times it right. 

He hopes he’ll be able to time it right.

* * *

_ It starts out loving. _

_ Thomas frowns a little at the bruises and the marks, but allows it. They don’t bother him, after all, and they piss John off, which is always a plus - but then he asks if the King could possibly be a little more gentle and the King says of course, sugar sweet, but manages to be even rougher that night.  _

_ The first time the King bites him is his first real red flag. He’d ignored the others.  _

_ He’d let the King fuck him over a desk, that time, moaned and gasped even when he didn’t feel any pleasure, but then just as he hit his orgasm felt something sharp sink into his neck and no he didn’t sign up for this - he snarls, struggles, says  _ no stop please no _ \- and the King pulls off and at first there’s a rush of relief but then the King says  _ shut the fuck up _ and hits him and bites him again, continues drinking the blood even as he screams - _

* * *

John sucks in air through his teeth, raps on the door to the train car. “André!” he calls. “A message from the King!”

John André barely opens the door, snatches the paper out of John’s hand and slams the door shut again. 

John rolls his eyes. “Drama queen,” he mutters, and retreats back into the car before it. The message, of course, was not from the King. However it does look incredibly like a “Royal Summoning”, so. 

He hopes it’s enough.

* * *

_ John doesn’t care about him, by the time he’s dragged onto the Train. No one notices his disappearance, and Thomas knows that because no one comes looking, no one mentions anything to the King about anyone looking for his pet demon.  _

_ An anklet is placed on him, blocking his magic, and he screams the first time he tries to use said magic and fails because it  _ hurts god it hurts get it off GET IT OFF -

_ The King just laughs, takes him dazed back to his bed and fucks him there, chains his hands and leaves him afterwards, panting, come dripping out of him and onto the sheets as he lays, exhausted, too tired and sore to even try to fight.  _

_ He should have listened to John. He should have listened.  _

* * *

“Your Majesty,” André says, bursting into the car, startling both the King and Thomas, who yanks away in surprise. His lips are swollen from the amount of biting the King had done. “Your message -”

“My  _ what? _ ” the King snaps, angry at being interrupted. “I do not recall sending any message.”

Thomas takes the opportunity. Pulls the capsule out, crushes it, feels - in amazement - as it morphs into a needle. 

Stabs the King. Snatches the key card from his pocket in a moment of adrenaline.

Runs.

He makes it past John André, out of the open door, slams it shut and grins victoriously at the screams he hears emerge. Looks like the hunger takes over, when the King is drained. He digs a finger under the anklet, gathers as much magic as he can, now that the King’s presence isn’t clouding his mind - snaps it. A rush of energy returns to him and he smiles for the first time in a long while. 

Now, to get further away…

He enters the connecting train car, only to be ambushed with - a hug?

He chokes when the arms squeeze to hard, wiggle out of them to find. 

“John?”

“Thomas,” John breathes, staring at him wide-eyed. “It worked!”

“Wait -” Thomas steps a little further back. Emotions rage, conflicting inside him. “That was you? You sent me the -”

“Yeah,” John says. He even looks relieved. He hands Thomas a coat, which Thomas takes, dazed. It’s purple. His favorite color. He puts it on, only half thinking about it. “Yeah, I did, I - thank god you escaped. I love you Thomas, it took a while but I realize that now, I was an idiot - but you’re free from him now, we can go somewhere else, somewhere far away -”

Thomas scowls. The assumption… He remembers the gazes, remembers seeing John but John refusing to look at him. Overhearing John call him “it”, using his little remaining power to peek into John’s mind only to hear him even  _ think _ of him as an “it”, feelings almost like disgust - “Took you that long, huh?”

“What?”

There’s a memory on the surface of John’s mind, and Thomas can use his magic freely now, can read it.  _ Claim what’s yours, _ the incubus had told John. John had nodded, and Thomas can’t believe it, almost doesn’t want to but - he’s spent too long under the King. Too long without freedom. He can’t do that anymore. “We saw each other often, John. Or, I saw you. You ignored me. Made it very clear your feelings for me. ‘I have no friends under you’, you told him. And now you help me escape only to expect me to just - I don’t - submit myself to you, go where you want to go, whatever the fuck - christ, I can’t believe -” 

“Thomas, it’s not like that -”

“You don’t have a fucking  _ claim  _ on me either, what the fuck?”

“Thomas -”

“No,” Thomas says, frantic as John tries to grab him because his mind goes back to the King and how he’d leave fingerprint-bruises wherever he touched as a  _ claim _ he can’t let anyone claim him again - he pushes away, and then he’s out the door but the King’s on the other side and  _ goddammit - _

“Thomas!”

The King narrows his eyes as John steps into view, arm outstretched. “Pet,” he says dangerously. “Come here.”

“Thomas, please,” John pleads. “You know I love you, you  _ know I love you please please just trust me - _ ”

“Pet -”

“Fuck off,” Thomas growls. He covers his ears, closes his eyes, tries to block both of them out because he needs to think he just needs quiet for one goddamn second - “Both of you. Just  _ fuck. Off! _ ” 

Demon magic - it’s one of the wildest types of magic to exist. Barely controllable, lashing out with emotions. It’s why there are so few high ranking demons, why demons who  _ can _ control their magic are feared. It corrupts, even further than a demon body can take, sometimes, and pushes the being controlling it to the brink. Humans given demon magic deteriorate in a matter of hours, wither away under the force. No human has been known to survive it. (Until Benjamin Tallmadge, but he comes later.) The point, of course, is that demon magic needs an outlet, needs to escape its host every once and awhile and the King keeping Thomas’ contained and boxed in did nothing to assist that. And now.

Now he’s angry. 

The magic explodes outwards, blowing both the King and John backwards the full length of their cars - but John manages to climb back, holds onto the doorway screaming “Thomas!” against the assault because he’s starting to sway and then the magic stops and everything is deadly silent and then.

Then.

Then he falls. 

“Thomas!” John yells, reaching out a hand, but it’s too late. 

Thomas slams into the protective barrier around the Train in a shower of sparks, screaming in pain as his essence is eaten away. 

“THOMAS!”

“Well,” the King breathes, watching as Thomas dissolves into nothing, anger thick in his voice. “Looks like you lost me a pet.” He raises his hand, pours everything behind this attack, and _fires._ John deflects it, fires back, and the King says “you _owe_ me now, Laurens” with the same kind of tone he used to use when guilt-tripping John, trying to get him to agree to be his before Thomas came along. 

John stares in shock - _sparks flying and he's gone -_  shaking with anger at the way the King immediately tries to replace Thomas, before snapping open his wings and flying away. He can't be here. He can't do this. Not now. 

He needs to mourn. 

“Coward!” The King laughs, nearly hysterical as his voice crescendos to a scream. “COWARD!”

* * *

Thomas Jefferson dies in a flare of magic and a scream that echoes through the entire Train. 

* * *

John leaves the Train that day, stays in the real world until he can’t. 

It takes him ten years to return - the memories connected to the place are too painful to bear. When he does, he does so with trepidation, unsure of how his arrival will be received. 

But the King does not find him.

“John Laurens!”

John looks up from his drink at the bar, surprised, and spots the incubus who gave him advice, all that time ago. He isn’t angry at them, shockingly. “Michel de Lafayette.” Michel had, of course, not aged much - ten years means nothing to an incubus.

“Missing a few names there,” Michel laughs. “Did it work?”

John snorts, bitter. “No. He’s dead.”

“Oh.” Michel pauses. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s fine,” John says, waves his hand. “He’s probably happier that way.”

“I’m glad. Now, where have you been?” Michael sits next to him, flags down the bartender and orders some long complicated drink John’s never heard of. 

“Not here. I’m not… I don’t have to be here. I can live away from here.” John grimaces as he says this. Most beings don’t take kindly to this knowledge - jealousy, as John can go off and do whatever he likes in the real world, whereas they have to wait until the King allows them to have a brief walk-around. Michel, however, doesn’t seem bothered.

“Really?” Michel asks, interested. “I was under the impression no one is supposed to leave. At least apart from the King allowing short… you know. This is a prison, after all.”

John shrugs. “I was… invited. And my friend… I wanted to help him. I think. Subconsciously.”

“Well, if you haven’t been here, I must tell you, you’ve missed quite a bit.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I have a kid,” Michel says. “Their name is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette.” They smile as they say it, fond. John feels jealousy rear its head, that Michel can have that kind of joy, and he can’t have Thomas. 

“Even longer than yours,” John quips, instead. He slides his glass to the bartender for a refill. “Congratulations, Michel.”

“Thank you,” Michel says, a small smile on his face. It’s soon wiped off, though, replaced by a somber expression. “In all seriousness, though - after losing his pet, Georgie went off in search for a new one. But when he came back - there’s a young demon. Powerful. He mustered up an army of powerful allies. Overthrew the King five years ago. Took his throne.”

John chokes on his drink. The bartender gives him a reproachful glance. “Wait - the King’s not in charge anymore?”

“Nope,” Michel says. “Though no one can decide who’s worse - this demon, or the King.”

“Why not?”

“He cracked down. The King gave everyone leniency, right? Sometimes allowed excursions? Not this one. He’s got the key, locks every door. No one can leave without his permission. Which leaves you - with your freedom to come and go - in a bit of a predicament.”

Dread begins to fill John as he realizes what that means. He opens his wings, attempts to fly - only to be shoved back down where he was before. “Fuck,” he bites out, and tries again - with the same result. 

Michel watches in amusement. “You can’t leave, can you.” Someone behind them scoffs, but they ignore it. 

“No,” John says. “No, I can’t.” 

“It’s not even the most radical thing he’s done,” Michel says. “He outlawed keeping pets unless they’re human. You can believe how many beings were upset with that. Then he locked up André and some of the other violent King supporters.” 

“And no one’s protesting this?” John asks.

“No one dares. He’s too powerful - fought the King one-on-one and won, apparently. Spared him for some reason - but that only makes people think he’s either overly cocky or more powerful that he looks. And you know what they say about powerful demons.”

“Terrifying,” John says, but all he can think of is Thomas and the magic he’d unleashed the day he fell off the Train. 

“So you’ll have to seek him out to leave,” Michel says. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t bother. You’re still alive right now - you might not leave an encounter with him that way.”

“What’s his name?” John asks. “I know a few demons.” The being to his other side edges away, looking apprehensive. 

“It acts as a summoning. Speak it and he appears. No thank you - I like my head where it is.”

John frowns. That kind of spell would take him years to build up, so this demon must’ve been planning for a long, long time. “So where can I find him?” John asks. 

“Ready to leave the Train so soon?”

“Wondering if I could wrangle a special come-and-go permission from him.”

“Doubt it,” Michel snorts. “But if you want to try…” they sigh at the determined look on John’s face. “Alright. Allegedly he doesn’t stay in any one car. But you’ll find him entering Von Steuben’s car from the front every day at noon. He’ll leave from the same door at one.”

“Thank you,” John says. 

“Don’t die,” Michel replies drily, and snags and downs the rest of John’s drink before wandering away. 

John sighs. He supposes he doesn’t need the rest of that anyway. 

* * *

He doesn’t quite make it to the demon before he enters Von Steuben’s car, and doesn’t care to interrupt whatever the demon wants with the ancient vampire, so he waits in the connecting car. It’s empty - a dining car. So he settles into a booth, watches the black whirl by outside and tries to forget the images burned into his mind of Thomas slamming into the barrier, screaming screaming screaming - sparks and lights flashing and flying as he reaches out desperate to John, who can do nothing more than watch. 

He shakes his head, clears his thoughts.  _ It’s been ten years. He’s gone. There’s nothing you can do. _

As promised, the door opens and shuts at exactly one. 

“I heard you were looking for me,” the demon says. John tenses.  _ The voice. _ It’s familiar. He’s heard it before. “You should speak less openly, in public spaces. You never know who might overhear.” There are clicks of the demon’s shoes against the floor, tap of a cane. Swish of a coat. John had decided to sit with his back to the door, but now he’s regretting that decision - he reaches out on the fifth plane, exhales sharply at the sheer amount of magic swirling around the demon behind him.  _ Powerful _ . Michel hadn’t exaggerated. John doubts he’d be able to win a fight against whoever it is. 

The demon slides into the other side of the booth, steepled his fingers, tilts his head. Curls bounce. There’s amusement in his eyes. Recognition. Familiar. The purple coat - no.  _ There’s no way.  _

“Well?”

“I saw -”

“An illusion.”

_ Screaming, burning essence, sparks flying - _

“Why?” He wants to reach over, wants to hold him in his arms, scream to the heavens loud enough that his siblings will hear but he has to know  _ why. _

The demon quirks his lips. John’s eyes zero in on them. “I couldn’t trust you.”

That stings. “Couldn’t. Can you now?”

The demon shrugs. “Can I?”

John hesitates. “I think. Yes.” Another pause. Filled with  _ something _ , but neither can shape their mouths to form the words unspoken between them. “I mourned you.”

“Are mourning. You haven’t stopped.” He looks too knowing. John wants to punch him.

“Yes.”

The demon sighs. “The person you knew - who I was - he’s dead. I’ve built a reputation around myself - I fought -”

“You defeated the King.” John smiles, lets the conflicting emotions wash over him - anger, hate, joy, love - feels for one.  _ Relief _ . “I’m glad.” He reaches across, takes one of the demon’s hands in his own.

And finally, finally, the mask breaks. “I missed you.”

“And I you.” 

“God,” Thomas breathes, leans forward and laughs and suddenly they’re kissing, desperate and eager and everything John wanted that kiss from so long ago to be, but there’s a table between them and it’s not enough so John breaks it, briefly, scoots out and moves to Thomas and straddles him, pushes him down and kisses him again, keeps kissing and kissing and kissing because he never realized how much he truly loved him until he was gone. 

Thomas reaches out on the fifth plane, embraces John there, runs a hand over his wings. John shudders, melts into him on the physical plane. “Fuck,” he whispers into Thomas’ skin. “Fuck. I love you - I love you -”

Thomas stills, pushes him away. John slides off the booth, stumbles a half step backwards.

“Thomas -”

“No,” he says, voice hard. “No. I can’t do this - no.” 

“Thomas, please -”

Thomas just shakes his head. “We’ll see each other again, Laurens. You have my permission to leave whenever you want.” And he disappears.

“ _ Please _ ,” John says, and falls to his knees because  _ what did he do wrong this time? _ He sobs, and barely notices when someone enters the car, places their hand on his back. 

_ You’ll be alright, _ Michel tells him, leads him away from the booth.  _ Sh, follow me. _

_ His name acts as a summoning, _ Michel had told him, in the bar, but John screams it, again and again and again and  _ Thomas doesn’t come.  _

_ John Laurens, _ Michel says softly, helps him sit down.  _ Please, sleep. You’ll feel better after you sleep.  _

But John doesn’t want to sleep, just wants to see Thomas again but Thomas  _ doesn’t want him, Thomas is back but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t want him - _

And Michel yelps, dodges the energy John sends careening their way.  _ Sleep, _ they say, more insistently this time.  _ SLEEP. _

John only vaguely notices his brain go fuzzy before he collapses, and finally goes to sleep.

* * *

Despite Thomas’ promise, he doesn’t see him for years, and when he does it’s only in passing. John has a hatred for pet-keeping because of what he saw done to Thomas, but Thomas doesn’t seem to mind it - he brings back multiple, until he preserves Madison in a train car and doesn’t look for another. 

Hamilton, though - John sees a spark in his eyes. A fire, like the one he fell for hundreds of years ago. 

He does what Thomas asks (demands) of him, watches the human until he can’t take it, whirls around and says, “I like you,” offers a counter deal. 

Hamilton agrees, but then Thomas shows up again and screams at him, “ _off my train, get off!_ ” but John hears “ _get out_ ” like he’s kicking him out of his house again, like Thomas is going to run off to the King again and the overwhelming feeling of _fear_ washes over him and he can’t help but argue, _it’s not your Train, you can’t just -_

“I think I can,” Thomas says. His grip on Hamilton’s chest tightens, and John sees Hamilton start to struggle to breathe. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, darling.”

John thinks of Gilbert in the car behind him, remembers their parent dying in a blast of magic, remembers raising them and being there for them throughout their life until they befriended  _ Thomas  _ of all people and he tries that route, but Thomas says he doesn’t care and  _ John knows he doesn’t care. Out of all people, John knows. _

“You wouldn’t do anything in front of your new  _ plaything, _ ” he spits, and he sees the terror in Hamilton’s eyes, knows he doesn’t understand the loaded meaning behind the word like Thomas will because John was there when the King -

Thomas raises his arm, snarling, lets magic build -

So John opens his wings and flies away.

_ Coward!  _ He hears the King scream in his mind, laughing hysterically and pointing, watching Thomas wither to nothing.  _ COWARD! _

**Author's Note:**

> IM WRITING A SEQUEL  
> (for real this time)  
> please please please prompt me [the-girlnightwing](https://the-girlnightwing.tumblr.com/) ill write literally anyone in this universe. i love it so much. just give me characters/a situation to write and ill do it (if it fits the universe, but it probably will)
> 
> the tumblr i used to use was my main (thalia-the-guitar) and you can ask me stuff there too, still, but i probably wont answer cos my friends judge me enough as it is lmao
> 
> also i live off comments ;;;))) plz lmk what u think, and if i did the original any justice... i miss writing with rowan ;;;(((


End file.
